So Where Does that Put Us (boy x boy)

Chapter Eleven - Justin

My dad hands me the car keys, running his hair through his heavily gelled hair. He purses his lips, glancing at the keys in my hands before I stuff them into my coat pocket. "You sure about this?"

I nod, "Yeah, she wanted to talk to me, right? It has to be important if she wants to go to Tim's."

Yesterday, my mother gave my dad a phone call, asking if I (and only me) would go to dinner with her to "talk" about the divorce. The divorce she wants to have. The divorce that will tear the last piece of normalcy in my life to shreds.

Ironically, my dad and I are standing in the family room. A comfortable couch faces a large TV mounted to the wall, an ancient video game console waiting to be played, movies waiting to be watched. The room was built for families to have time together in, build bonds that should last forever. Only this room hasn't held a family for years.

Now it never will.

The keys suddenly grow heavy in my pocket and my throat turns into the desert. My dad gives me a smile, looking straight through me. His smile is a mere semblance of his former self, a shell of what his smiles could truly be. On the brown fabric of the couch sits old photographs of their wedding day. They used to hang above the computer desk in the far corner of the room, but my dad has taken them down. He smiles in the picture, a real, proper smile. The one he gives me now has a certain sadness about it. He knows just as well as I do that this means the end.

The end of the dance of who's right and who's wrong. The end of ignoring the dark cloud that has hung over our house for years, even before she died.

Now I'm driving straight into the den of wolves.

"I guess I'll get going now," I say quietly, scratching at my forearm.

He nods awkwardly, turning away as if I don't exist anymore. He stands over the old photos, picking on up and running a finger down it. I head up the stairs, trying not to think about what's going on.

Seems like I've dreamed of my parents separating for years. My hands slide along the railing and I let out a deep sigh, thinking back to my younger self, hiding in my room as my parents battled downstairs. I always thought that if they split, everything would get better. They seemed to hate each other (not seemed, they did), so the only solution that came to mind... Divorce. Such an ugly, far too common word. I thought it would fix things but now that it has come, now that I have to face the ugly, that little boy wishing his parents would just go away drifts into the distance.

My chest opens into a hollow void as I open the front door, refusing to look at my house as I walk along the narrow driveway to my dad's SUV, swallowing hard. I hop into the driver's seat, looking up at the building. If you look closely, which I always do, you can still see her butterfly stickers hanging to the glass of her window. Still so innocent for what happened in that room just a year ago. Only a year ago...

Shaking my head, I turn the key and listen to the engine start up. I instantly pull out my phone and blare some music. Roran Mancini's voice echoes through the car, instantly calming me as I shift into first gear and begin driving down the driveway. I hate driving. And I'm probably the only teenager in the world who would say that's but the endless possible ways to die in a car always sift through my brain when I get behind the wheel. Especially in my dad's stick shift.

Because what if I stall the car? What if someone doesn't see me and drives into the wrong lane and crushes me? What if I don't shift at the right time and slam on the gas instead of the clutch and run off a cliff?

Breathe. "Calm down," I whisper, trying to slow my breathing, focusing on Mancini's voice as I turn into the street where the restaurant lies.

My mom asked to meet at a restaurant I used to love growing up. My sister and I would beg one of our parents (never both at the same time because two parents on one outing never ended well) to take us. It's family owned, and somehow, against all the odds, is still in business. Driving down the road, nervously watching all the other cars drive by me, I think fondly on those old days. My sister and I would always swap meals. She, being two years younger, always wanted to order from the "adult" menu but couldn't. Even though I was always a "scrawny kid" (or as my dad liked to put it, "a late bloomer"), I eventually upgraded to the regular menu and found the selection not nearly as appealing as the fun colors and crayons that came with being a child. So, we would order for each other and switch plates.